


The Run and Go

by pipliss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipliss/pseuds/pipliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can, to put it lightly, see and speak to the dead. He's spent his whole life ignoring those who try to speak with him or grab his attention, wanting to live in normalcy as much as possible. But it's a little hard when Laura Hale pops into his life, insisting Stiles fix his mistakes and help her brother. But he wasn't expecting to fall in love with the guy, for heaven's literal sake.</p><p>Or, the one where Stiles is a journalist who wrote a false piece about a werewolf named Derek Hale a year ago and is forced to right his wrong by a pestering dead girl who won't stop screaming Green Day lyrics. Oh how he loves his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Run and Go

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is short for reasons, keep that in mind. Warnings will be added as the story progresses. I'm a loner and have no friends, therefore no one to read over and review any of this, please ignore any mistakes there may be. Lastly, enjoy.

"So have you found anything good for the next issue?" Scott asks, taking a bite of his cinnamon roll and sipping at his coffee

"No. And for Beacon Hills, that's a shock," Stiles answered. Beacon Hills usually always had something going on, whether it's a death, festival, some freak accident, it was never his, well,  _boring_. And it was killing Stiles' income, he hasn't had a proper article written in weeks. Not to mention he's starting to feel the depths of writers block hitting him.

It's also kind of hard to write when you've got a constant... Well, distraction.

Scott stares with a curious look as his friend twitches across the table in the small corner café that, clutching the orange in his hand pretty borderline abusive, and he can’t help but smirk, “So, who is it this time?”

“Some annoying broad who is _currently_ yelling the theme song of _Cat-Dog_ in my ear,” Stiles Stilinski replies, his thumb stabbing into his half-pealed orange, a bit of juice squirting out across the table at Scott, who laughs and moves back a bit to dodge it, “Hopefully _she’ll_ get the hint and find someone else to pester,”

Chuckling once more, “On a scale of the old librarian from first grade to when Mr. Barns haunted you for six weeks, how bad?”

Stiles gives him this _look_ , and it’s a look Scott knows well, so he just throws his head back and howls with another laugh. Meanwhile, _she_ is currently making quack noises right against Stiles’ ear, and she doesn't appear to be giving up on getting his attention any time soon.

He ignores her on his way out of the café as he slips his jacket on to fight against the cold, but-not-cold-enough-for-a-coat weather. She’s currently hopping around in front of him, and he’s used to this already because nearly every person that’s come to him has done this.

He’s had quite a bit of people (not people, they’re dead. Dead people aren't people, they’re _dead people_ ), some crazy, some not so crazy. Usually he just gets crying husbands or wives crying and begging for him to tell their significant other that they’re ‘sorry’ for something and that they ‘love them’. It’s a crock of shit, if you ask him. This isn’t _Ghost_ , or some shit like that.

Stiles inherited his _burden_ (he refuses to consider this some kind of gift) from his mother apparently, or that’s what his dad told him. He’s seen dead people since as long as he can remember, but his parents urged him to ignore it and not let anyone know. Nobody could know.

Which, at this point he wishes he didn't have to know. He’d gladly give this ‘ability’ of some sort to anyone who wanted it. Good riddance, they can have it.

“I’ll see you around man,” Scott tells him, giving him a quick hug before grinning broadly and walking in the opposite direction to his own car. Stiles doesn't see Scott much during the week; too busy interning at the hospital to have time for his old high school best friend.

“Catch ya later bro,” he murmurs back, and now he’s left alone on the sidewalk with _her._ She introduced herself when she first fell into his apartment asking for _Stiles Stilinski_ , but Stiles doesn't remember, he doesn't remember many of them. He just orders his pizza and watches his Mad Men marathons and falls asleep on the sofa, he doesn’t care that there’s some dead person there, he just cares about being normal.

When he finally gets home he throws his jeep keys down onto the coffee table of his small living room which is connected to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator for something to snack on. She’s talking, rambling on about nonsense and Stiles kind of hates her more than the last chick that came to him, but only, not so much.

Last woman was some bottle blonde who was angry that her boyfriend was cheating on her, and Stiles couldn't help but say: “You’re dead. You expected more? He was probably cheating on you while you were alive too, have you seen your make-up?” which resulted in her vanishing with a raging scream about how the mortician was left-handed. How that mattered, he wasn’t sure. He simply shrugged and ate his day old pizza.

“You can’t ignore me forever, God what’s wrong with you?” she barked, and her voice may not have been as high pitched as the last one but she certain had this tone – you know, like she was extremely bossy and controlling, “Can’t you hear me? I know you can, you and your friend with the lopsided jaw were talking about it,”

Stiles snorts, closing the refrigerator door when all he could find was a can of Pepsi and Chinese from last night, which he was gladly going to finish off right now to some episodes of Mad Men.

“Aha!” the woman exclaims, pointing at Stiles accusingly, “You acknowledged me, you’re not as tough as I thought,”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles makes his way over to his trusty sofa, plopping down happily and popping open the can of soda, taking a few swigs and letting out a satisfied sigh. _She_ even as the nerve to sit on the arm of the couch and stare at him, it doesn't help that her eyes are huge and he almost shivers uncomfortably because it’s like she’s staring into his soul or some shit.

“You know that’s not good for you right? The crap they put in soda is revolting,”

Stiles makes a gasping noise and places a hand over his chest in a mocking manner, “Oh darn, I hope it doesn't _kill_ me,”

“Smooth one. Bet it took you you’re entire _life_ to come up with that one. Shame really,” She stands, and moves around the sitting room area, and Stiles is having a really, really, _really_ hard time paying attention to the TV, "Don't you clean up after yourself? I swear there's like ten cans of beer on the coffee table and I'm afraid of seeing what's inside that McDonald's bag,"   
  
He switches off the TV and groans loudly, "You're not going to leave are you? Look, the sooner you realize I'm not helping you tell your boyfriend that you love him or some bullshit about how he's allowed to 'let go and move on', the sooner I can probably have a decent night's sleep before the next idiot comes tumbling in here,"   
  
She's quiet for a long time, and Stiles watches her closely. She bends down behind the sofa and pops back up with a shout, "Oh  _God_ , I think I just found a condom... and it definitely wasn't in the wrapper,"   
  
"Nobody told ya to look under the couch, that's your fault," he tips his can of soda towards her before smirking and taking another sip and then standing, "I've got work to do, so why don't you continue doing whatever it is you'll think will gain my attention and move on, yeah? Because I'm not helping you,"   
  
"I'm not the one that exactly needs help, okay?" she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest, which Stiles wouldn't mind looking at, she's got a nice rack. He stands from where he's sitting and heads down the hall to his room, which is in even worse shape than the rest of the apartment. She doesn't say much when she enters, walking straight through the door that Stiles closed rather loudly.  
  
"Usually when a door's closed it means ' _go the fuck away'_ ," he spins his desk chair around and sits, turning until he's facing his computer, starting it up and continuing to pretend that he's alone.

“I don't want to be here as much as you don't want me to be. And gross! Don't you ever do laundry!? Listen, I just need to help my brother. All I’m begging is that you help me to help him, and then I _promise_ I will be out of your way,”

Groaning, he goes out on a whim, "Why do I need to help you help your bro?"

"He's, well," she sits down on Stiles' bed, and he raises a brow waiting for her to continue, "I guess depressed."

This makes him snort, "I've heard it all before princess," and turns back to his computer. No,  _absolutely_ not, he was not helping with a mournful family member who was, to put it simply, _mourning,_ "The mourning process is a thing for a reason,"

She huffed dramatically, crossing her arms, biting the inside of her cheek that let her jawline flex and pop out, "What if I told you he was a werewolf?"  
  
The laughter following that certain went on for quite some time, almost forcibly, "Best friend's a werewolf, princess. Guess since you dead you couldn't tell, but yeah, he was at the cafe earlier. 

 "Don't call me _princess_ , my name's Laura, got it?" Laura spat very firmly, hoping the guy got the picture, and he did, because he cleared his throat and turned to face her yet again.  
  
"OK, _Laura_. So what, your brother's a werewolf, this doesn't mean jack shit to me, I'm not helping,"   
  
"You know it's very sad to watch talented people waste their talent the way you're doing,"   
  
"Did you know it got annoying hearing that after the hundredth time,"

She stands with a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation, "You wouldn't be able to help my brother even if you tried, you're too bitter and cocky to even come close. He'd have you dead in seconds. I'd have probably killed you myself if I were still alive,"

"Cool, so does this mean you'll be leaving now?" 

Laura stares at Stiles long and hard.

Five minutes later she's jumping on his bed dramatically yelling the alphabet, and Stiles has to put on headphones. Thankfully nobody else in the building could hear ghosts, or he'd be getting noise complaints.

* * *

 

"Okay look," When she finally speaks at a normal octave and not screaming song lyrics that give Stiles middle school nostalgia, "I'm tired of singing  _Green Day_ , so can we just talk please? It's been four days, and believe it or not the dead can actually get tired, go figure. Just hear me out okay?" 

This doesn't mean him look up from the article he was typing up. He worked for Beacon Times, a journalist. "What are you writing there?" she asks, and he grunts.  
  
She's actually about to give up, until he speaks, "Writing about the recent vandalism that happened to the that old Hale house," 

Laura's head perks up from where she's slouched over in exasperation on his bed, "What did you just say?"

"That old Hale house, you know? The one that burned down a few years ago, apparently kids had a party down there. Not that they did anything  _more_ damaging, that place was a dump already, but it's about the only interesting thing that's happened in awhile and I gotta keep my job," 

"That's my house you're talking about," she literally growls, and this makes Stiles pause his typing, before turning very slowly to Laura, "Wait... did you just say-"

"That you're talking shit on my house? Yeah, ' _bro',_ not cool," 

This makes him whirl away from the computer, scooting his chair closer to Laura, "You're being  _serious_?" 

"Will you stop looking at me like that? I'm dead man, why would I lie, not like I can gain anything," 

Blinking, Stiles licks his lips, "So uh, is that how you died, the fire?" 

"No. I died after. I don't remember how," it's so, something about how she says it kind of makes Stiles confused. How does one not remember how they've died? Oh well, he doesn't care, so he shakes his head.

"So your brother, and you, you both survived the huge house fire?" 

She stands up from the bed, crossing her arms over her chest again and this time it's not in annoyance. She walks over to the window in Stiles' room, staring out and down at the sidewalk where some old woman is taking out her trash, struggling a bit, "No... My uncle survived too, he never came around often, though.. Derek lives by himself,"

"And Derek is your... brother?" Stiles figures if she's never going to leave, why not learn a bit more in depth about the article he's been writing. He'll use the excuse that it's for work. Business is a good excuse.

"Yes, Derek Hale is my brother..."

His brow scrunches up and he sits back, "I've heard that name before..." 

"Wow, you journalists really are inconsiderate of what you write about, aren't you? Just as long as you've got a good story," she hisses, and Stiles swears he hears a bit of resentment in her voice. "You wrote about my brother last year... about his...situation," 

Stiles swears his eyes have never widened that quickly, "Wait, Derek Hale, the guy who was accused of-"

"Yes. You slaughtered his name. He was _innocent_ ," 

 _Oh._ Okay, so Stiles can definitely hear the resentment, and if he's honest if he remembers correctly, that article probably wasn't his favorite work, "It's a dog eat dog world, princess. And frankly the evidence was kinda against him on it... So," 

"You're so stupid, just shut up for a second _jerk_ ," she turns back to face him, and boy is she scary looking, "You ruined my brothers life and now I'm dead and I'm stuck here until you do something about it. I'm not fucking leaving, got it? He doesn't leave the loft, and full moons are getting more difficult,and it's because you wrote that article, he can't even leave town because of the damn anklet..." 

"Sorry... but if you think I slaughtered your brother's name... what makes you think I'm going to be able to help him, let alone that he's gonna want to except my help?"

Laura doesn't say anything for a moment, "Because. You have the power to,"

"How?" 

"God you are so dumb for being a writer. You're gonna take your fingers and clack away at that keyboard and come up with another _hit_ story about him, got it? And maybe this time you can save the dramatics and bullshit," 

"And if I disagree?" 

"Guilt's on you," 

Stiles rolls his eyes, he really really didn't like Laura, but he had to admit, he could play this to his advantage.. if it meant getting a good story out of it.


End file.
